


Falling is also a part of flying

by Lissellone



Series: The secrets of our misbegotten youth [2]
Category: Ylvis
Genre: F/M, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Light Sadism, M/M, Multi, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 05:07:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8358520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lissellone/pseuds/Lissellone
Summary: Coming of age also means coming into yourself.What does that mean to two men who have never been apart?





	

“Vegard.”

The head of tousled curls half-buried beneath the covers barely moves when Bård straddles him. Bård pats him down gently, making sure his brother is not sleeping on his side before he lets most of his weight off of his knees and sinks down heavily on his rump, pushing his brother deeper into the sheets.

“ _Min eneste. Min bror._ ”

This time, he is rewarded with a sigh, but Vegard refuses to rouse. His brother needs more sleep than Bård himself does, but it is so much past what an afternoon kip should last and they have work to get done in the few days they have here before heading back to Bergen.

There are days Bård would do something cheeky just to make Vegard shoot awake, cursing and swearing revenge he forgets about seconds after Bård rustles up something from room service for him to eat. Today though, the sight of Vegard burrowing his face deeper into the pillows, trusting and childlike and completely unconcerned with his unannounced presence in his room makes something in him clench.

Bård leans forward slowly and lets his hands fist in those dark, luxe curls, pulling gently but with a firm pressure. Vegard whines under him, tries to shake him off, but Bård lets his weight press more firmly down until his brother stops shifting and husks something unintelligible in a rough, deep whisper. Vegard’s voice is a thing of beauty, for its flexibility and strength, for its changeling quality. Its vibrations rumble through him and Bård lets one hand creep forward to curve firmly around his brother's throat, the better to feel it.

He can feel the moment when Vegard blinks awake, his body responding before his consciousness does.

“What are you doing?” Vegard croaks grumpily, bucking his hips to dislodge Bård from where he is plastered against his back.

Bård clamps down harder with his knees, riding the motion of his brother’s body and tightening the hand across his throat to a point of slight discomfort. He lets his breath hiss out, hot and damp against the back of Vegard’s neck, before taking a thin sliver of skin between his teeth. His insides feel shivery and mercurial, and he feels something building in him, a nameless pressure with no avenue of escape. He bites down harder, squeezing Vegard between his thighs, absorbing the shocks of movement into his own body.

Vegard is struggling in earnest now.

“Bård! Geroff me n- AH!” Vegard cries out in true pain and stops moving like a cornered prey animal. Bård has him by the skin of his neck and he’s sure he has drawn blood. Vegard’s chest heaves beneath him, a fine tremor running through his body as he takes deep jagged breaths, ragged from shock and pain. Bård isn't sure what has come over him, but he is used to following his emotions and barrels forward, heedless, a thrill running through him.

He breathes out Vegard’s name like a prayer against the shell of his ear, lipping at the lobe, one hand buried in the fine curls of his hair, the other still curved around his throat. His insides are a confused blend of love and protective instinct, and yet there is destruction there too. He wants to possess Vegard so thoroughly there will never be room for anyone else but him; he wants to cut a swathe through him, he wants to mark and cut and burn and love and kiss and fuck. He wants to inhale him in every breath, to have him here like this, forever.

This time when he fists his hand in Vegard’s curls, the older man remains pliant beyond an initial wince, and allows him to draw his head backwards so Bård can kiss the strong line of his jaw, the dark shadow of stubble abrading his skin; a delicious agony. Bård rubs their cheeks together, tasting him; his jaw, his cheek, the butterflies of his eyelids and the slight salt of a lone tear track. When he finally kisses him, Vegard’s lips are gentle and forgiving beneath his and Bård wants to swallow him whole. _My brother, my other self - my better self._

He nips him sharply, taking in that gasp, feeling it under his fingers; the motion of Vegard swallowing magnified as if all of his receptors are tuned to him and only him.

He lets go of Vegard’s head to run his hand down the strong muscles of his back beneath the soft plushness of the bathrobe he is wearing. His brother is bare-chested beneath the robe which hangs loosely open, untied. When Bård reaches the tie, it is as if something lights up in his brain and he pulls it sharply loose of its loops, shifting his body weight and using hands and legs to force Vegard up onto his knees.

Vegard’s body is heavy but obedient and Bård thrills to it, to being able to overpower him like this with arms and legs as he rolls him forward a little and ties his hands to the bedposts with quick, efficient motions. His brother is panting, limbs still lax and heavy from sleep but warm and good and too delectable. Bård pushes Vegard’s head down so his body forms one long, inverted curve, bathrobe askew and boxers twisted. Bård shoves the boxers down Vegard’s legs to his knees and allows them to tangle there, another restraint.

Vegard is the colour of a latte, golden and olive tones both in milky brown. When the light shines on him he turns golden, and Bård is always surprised by how regal he seems. Having that swathe of unblemished skin now before him, bare and vulnerable and stretched over firm muscle, Bård wants to stain him, mark him, scar.

Bård has left a permanent mark on his brother’s skin, and he traces it now; a fine white line just above the ankle of the right leg. It wasn't intentional, but now he imagines leaving more.

Bård lets the sharp edges of his nails trace that exquisitely round bottom. He strokes adoring fingers along those firm muscled thighs, solid and strong; watches the muscles flex and goose bumps rise. He watches muscle tremors rock Vegard’s body, little quivers and muffled whimpers given like treasured gifts to the pillows supporting him. His skin is thick and firm, a beautiful bounce to it when he digs his nails in, the sparse downy black hairs tickling him.

Bård maps every inch of Vegard’s back and arse, painting him with fingers and tongue, teeth and lips. Soft caresses, bites and sucking kisses that leave marks, red and illicit. Vegard is his canvas and he wields the brush with intent. When he lets his hands creep around Vegard’s body to his front and pinches his nipples, his brother groans so beautifully long and low that Bård just has to press them harder between thumb and forefinger, not releasing the pressure until Vegard is shaking and begging; babbling nonsense and tossing and turning restlessly.

His brother doesn't have a very high pain tolerance threshold, but he suffers so beautifully, so honestly, Bård wants to hurt him just a little, just a bit more, until tears form like diamonds in those kind brown eyes, welling up but not spilling.

Bård caresses the bite on the back of Vegard’s neck, feeling him wince. He adjusts the pillows so Vegard’s head is hanging off it onto the bed, his tender nipples rubbing against the cloth, and pulls his hips up, tucking a pillow between his hips and calves to elevate them more.

When he lowers his head and tastes him, Vegard’s thick scent curls almost visibly around him: smoke and pine and a rich undercurrent of sweetness. He lies there, half draped over Vegard’s folded legs until they tremble in that difficult position, and licks him until his brother is sweating and crying out, skin damp and muscles taut and tight. Bård plays with his bruises and marks, pressing them and worrying at them as he firms his tongue and thrusts it as far as he can into Vegard’s hot, tight channel, opening him up for his fingers.

When he pauses to rustle through the bedside drawer for a bottle of lube, his brother shifts uncomfortably, unused to being folded up on his knees and probably experiencing the worst case of pins and needles right now. Bård smirks a bit, enjoying the thought of his brother’s limbs being heavy and uncooperative and not quite under his own command. He plans to make it definitively worse.

He returns with his fingers already coated with slick, slipping one into Vegard and curling it backwards to catch lightly at his rim, just to hear him pant and curse, before concentrating on stretching him slowly but thoroughly. He is still tight and stiff even after the prolonged play, and Bård wants him to hurt, but not in that way. His questing fingers brush over that slightly spongy tissue and Vegard shouts, muffling it at the last against his own arm, biting down with an agonised expression when Bård doesn't let up, continuing to rub it lightly with the pads of two fingers.

His hips fling about, uncoordinated, those solid muscles heavy and strong, unable to stay still even through the cramping. When Bård squeezes one of those knotted calf muscles, Vegard winces, then chokes as Bård renews his assault on his prostate.

It is only when he has reduced Vegard to ragged whimpers, alternating between torturing his swollen, sensitive nipples and that delicate spot inside him that he slowly runs a gentle finger over his brother’s cock, drawing another jerk from him. Bård slowly withdraws and slicks himself up. He wants Vegard to come untouched on his cock, wants him to cede even that last bit of control over his own body to Bård’s hands.

Bård tosses the pillow elevating Vegard’s hips off the bed and draws them up. He slowly guides himself in, feeling Vegard pant and groan, making room for him deep inside his body, giving way. His brother growls when he reaches the hilt, balls deep, their bodies plastered against each other. A deep breath. When he starts to rock, planting his elbows and shifting his hips until he finds an angle that makes Vegard go silent and blind, he slips two fingers into that slack, panting mouth, letting his brother latch on.

There are starbursts behind his closed eyes, it is so good, so _insanely_ good and not nearly enough all at the same time. Vegard is biting at the fingers in his mouth, sucking and laving mindlessly. Bård is surrounded by heat, stifling waves of it, overheating as he pistons his hips in and out of that plush arse, fast, faster, harder. He feels the slap of flesh against flesh right down to his bones.

Between one movement and the next, Vegard starts shaking beneath him, keening and crying as Bård grits his teeth, fucking him through it as his brother contracts hard around him and comes apart. He keeps spasming and coming in choked spurts, Bård can feel the pooling wetness as it goes literally everywhere, even a few patches of it all the way up to Vegard’s throat.

Only when Vegard’s whimpers take on a pained edge does Bård sink his teeth into his brother's shoulder, and let himself come, shuddering through it, feeling Vegard’s pleasure still rock his body intermittently as he closes his eyes and lets himself collapse onto the solid man below him, wrapping his arms around him and rolling him sideways.

They both lie there in a tangle of sprawled limbs, breathing hard, Bård clutching at his brother even though the heat rising from their skin is enough to be uncomfortable. The air is thick with heat, redolent with it; their skin damp and sticky as both brothers struggle to regain their breath.

There is just the tiniest seam of blood on the nape of Vegard’s neck where Bård had first nipped him. Bãrd licks this away carefully, sucking on the small wound until the slow seep of blood stops entirely. He reaches forward and gropes around to loosen the tie to release his brother from the bed. Vegard lets his head loll back with a sigh, his hand coming up to cradle Bård’s head closer, fingers lingering in his hair lovingly.

“Bård, you silly twit. What was that all about?”

Bård tightens his arms around his brother and buries his face in the springy curlicues of his hair. He shakes his head, keeps his silence. He can't quite explain it, what came over him, why he did it, but Vegard is his; always his, forever. He wants to put his stamp on him, brand him, scar him, mark him so everyone in the world will always know who Vegard belongs to. He brings his lips back to the small bite, licking at it just to feel that slight metal of Vegard’s life force on his tongue.

Vegard is so conditioned to his touch that goosebumps rise on his bare arms and he tips his head further to the side to invite Bård’s lips. He obliges, nuzzling into the tender crook of Vegard’s shoulder, breathing him in. He can hear the racing of his heart start to slow, feel the tiny shiver up Vegard’s spine as a droplet of sweat rolls slowly down. Traceries of veins, a smattering of freckles, Bård wants to taste them all, wants to see if the skin of that sensitive spot just behind Vegard’s left ear is different from that at the hollow between his collarbones.

“ _Min bror_ ,” Vegard sighs. “ _Min eneste_.”

Bård stills. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I think I heard you in my dreams,” Vegard muses quietly. “I just know, somehow. I felt you come in. And when I awoke, you were here. I felt you needing me.”

“Actually I just came in to wake you for rehearsals, you've slept the whole afternoon away.”

“Sure.”

Bård bristles at the amusement in Vegard’s tone, but is gentled immediately when his brother turns in his arms and snuggles close to his chest, curly head fitting perfectly under his chin.

“I needed you, Bård,” Vegard says in a serious tone. “I've been so stressed out about this show I couldn't let go of anything, it's all been bottled up inside me whilst I need to remain calm and in control of everything. Only you can make me let go of all that. You, literally, took me by the scruff of my neck and shook everything out of me. Thank you.”


End file.
